


Enemy of my enemy

by LeaderOfTheRats



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, HighChaos!Corvo, Low Chaos Ending, LowChaos!Corvo, LowChaos!Daud, Multi, alternative endings, high chaos ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeaderOfTheRats/pseuds/LeaderOfTheRats
Summary: Corvo hadn’t been to the Continental in Dunwall in years. Not since Jessamine. He’d turned his back on it and all it represented after meeting her. But now he was dragging himself towards its doors again, agonizing step by agonizing step.-AKA I'm currently writing on a longer Dishonored fic and recently rewatched the John Wick movies. The whole thing about assassins not being allowed to kill each other while in the Continental? Perfect for some Daud & Corvo conversation, imo. So have this! Hope you enjoy a weird fusion universe as much as I do.
Relationships: Corvo Attano & Daud, Past Jessamine Kaldwin/Corvo Attano, mentions of one-sided Corvo Attano/Daud (High Chaos Ending), pre Corvo Attano/Daud if you squint (Low Chaos Ending)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40





	1. Enemy of my enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings ahead for: Canon-typical Violence and a Major Character Death. Don't mind that? Then enjoy!

Corvo hadn’t been to the Continental in Dunwall in years. Not since Jessamine. He’d turned his back on it and all it represented after meeting her. But now he was dragging himself towards its doors again, agonizing step by agonizing step.  
His view was swimming. The glare of the midday sun sent sharp spikes of pain through his skull. He felt like puking his guts out. He felt like giving up. 

He couldn’t. 

Not with Emily still out there, somewhere. Not with his enemies at his heels.

He pushed the doors open. Stumbled in. Nobody spared him a glance. A man in a nice suit, the expensive fabric ripped and splattered with blood, was nothing unusual in this place. On the contrary. It was exactly the kind of thing this hotel catered to.

The branch of the Continental in the Empire of the Isles prided itself on merging in with local history. The one in Dunwall was on the smaller side. Not as opulent as the versions in New York or Hongkong, but the place still spoke of taste and money.  
The building had been a pub once. It used to be called the Hound Pits, due to the bloody sports taking place on its grounds. That had been decades back, though. Now crumbling posters from those bad old days, the heyday of the Rat Plague, illuminated behind conserving glass panes, reminded everyone entering the lobby of the place’s brutal origins.  
Violence held back behind costly bits of civilization. If somebody had tried to reflect the hotel’s character with the display, they couldn’t have made a better point, Corvo supposed.

He reached the counter. Leaned against it. Held himself upright with what strength he had left. The man behind it didn’t do anything to help him outright, as per protocol, but he gave Corvo a genuine smile. Samuel Beechworth, friendly, steadfast and competent. There were few people in the world Corvo would’ve been happier to see at death’s doorstep.

“Mr. Attano,” came the concierge’s calm greeting, “it has been a while.”

“Six years, Sam.” Corvo’s voice sounded rough to his own ears. “Didn’t think I’d ever return, but things have gone a bit off the rails.” He paused. “A lot off the rails, actually. I’ll need a room. And the services of the doctor. It’s somewhat urgent.” 

Samuel nodded, assessing Corvo’s state with a quick glance.

“Gunshot wounds, sir?”

Corvo shook his head. Or tried to, but had to stop himself short. His vision was tilting this way and that with the motion, making bile rise in his throat.

“Some of those, yeah,” he answered, “but they’re not the problem. I was poisoned. The tyvian stuff, I think. The dose must’ve been too small, but it’ll do the job in time if I don’t receive treatment soon.”

Samuel nodded again and turned towards his computer screen. There was no trace of urgency on his face, but his hands were flying over the keyboard. Good old Sam. Ever professional. Ever helpful. Corvo had almost missed him in his years of absence from this life he’d used to live. The life he’d left behind for something simpler. More fulfilling. Peaceful. 

Meeting Jessamine all those years ago had been what had given him a reason, a final, all-encompassing reason, to leave it all behind. This world of violent ends traded in golden coins he’d been a part of ever since turning sixteen and proving his extraordinary skill with a blade.  
Corvo had made a name for himself in more than two decades of carefully delivered deaths. ‚The Masked Fellon’. He’d hoped to leave it behind for good. Had sworn he was done with it the day he’d buried his infamous mask in the garden of the house he and Jess had bought. 

It had worked, for a time. No more contracts, no more debts. Just quiet, everyday life with the kind, beautiful woman he loved and their smart, fierce, wonderful daughter. He’d been out. Until the day Burrows had appeared at their front door, calling in an old favor.  
The man they called ‚The Spymaster’ had never been one of Corvo’s go-to contacts. Hiram Burrows dealt in information, and ruthlessly so. He was someone to be aware of, someone not to be crossed. Someone not to be trusted. But Corvo had needed the man’s intel on a few jobs.  
Burrows had delivered it, thorough and complete, and had asked for payment not in coin but in favors owed. Corvo hadn’t liked it, but he’d agreed nonetheless. Those favors had turned into contracts everytime. A whistleblower here, a former informant there, Corvo had payed what was owed back in blood. All but one. The last and biggest one. Burrows had been pivotal in making Corvo’s exit from life as a hired killer possible, had helped him get out unscathed.  
And then, years later, the Spymaster had come to collect. Corvo had refused. He’d been done with killing. Hiram Burrows had expressed his regret at hearing Corvo’s decision. Had left their home with polite parting words and no trouble at all. 

Not a week later, Jessamine had died. 

Corvo had returned from the grocery store and found her on the kitchen floor, the blood around her already cold on the white tiles. She’d been stabbed through the heart with a knife. Clean, precise. No other wounds on her. No sign of a struggle, no traces of anyone breaking and entering. The weapon responsible nowhere to be found.  
The work of a professional. The work of someone just like Corvo used to be. And to make matters even worse, Emily, their amazing little girl, had been gone without a trace. 

Corvo had done what any normal, reasonable man without an unmentionable past would do in such a situation. He’d called the police. They hadn’t found anything useful. They’d even suspected him as the perpetrator for a while. Considering nobody knew about his former profession, it had told Corvo two things.  
For one, they wouldn’t look for a professional hitman, even with all the evidence pointing at something very different from a domestic dispute turned violent. They’d wanted a quick solution, an easy target to blame. The other thing it had told him was that they wouldn’t search for Emily in any meaningful capacity, certain as they’d been Corvo was behind the killing as well as the kidnapping. 

Things had looked very bleak until Geoff Curnow had taken over the investigations. The man had let Corvo go soon enough, promising to do what he could to find Emily and whoever had taken her mother from her. Curnow was a good man, and Corvo was sure he’d meant every word. But there was no way the detective would get anywhere near the people Corvo used to work for, work alongside. As much as it had grated to return to his old ways, after he’d sworn never to raise a weapon except in self-defense again, Corvo had known it was the only chance to find his daughter. 

The day he’d been free to go, three weeks ago now, he’d returned to his home. He’d grabbed a spade from the garden shed. Had dug a hole near the apple tree. Wiping the soft, brown earth from cold metal, he’d looked into a face the world had thought to be gone for good.

The bing of the elevator arriving made him return his focus, or what is left of it, to reality. 

“The doctor will see you now,” Samuel told him. “Second floor, the door at the end of the hall. After you are done, your room will be ready. Forth floor. The same one as usual.”

Samuel gave him an encouraging smile. Radiating certainty that Corvo would indeed make it to his room and to wherever he wanted to go after. Corvo did his best to return the kindness with a smile of his own as he took the keycard from the concierge’s hand. He was pretty sure it was more a grimace of pain than a friendly expression, but a dose of tyvian poison in his system should do to excuse it.  
He made his way into the elevator with some effort and his way towards the doctor’s office with even more of it. He knocked. Then collapsed straight into Dr. Hypatia’s arms when the door opened.

-

Corvo’s thoughts were a jumble. Bits and pieces of memory. 

Old jobs. 

Blood. A lot of it. His own, but mostly other’s. 

Pain, also a lot of it. His own and other’s. Too much of it for one lifetime. 

Scenes of light and happiness. Jessamine. Emily. Gone now, both of them. 

The last three weeks. Returning to his old profession, his old hunting grounds. 

Havelock, reaching out with an offer. An alliance against Hiram Burrows and his network. Reaching out with proof. Of Burrows ordering Jess dead, Emily taken. Just to fuck with the former assassin who’d refused to honor one of his crooked deals. 

Meetings. Words of allegiance and secrecy. Farley ‘The Admiral’ Havelock and his closest. Treavor Pendleton, rich and spineless, providing the cash flow. Teague Martin, a former hitman himself, hiding badly behind newfound piety. And a plan. To take down Thaddeus Campbell. Take down Pendleton’s brothers. Take down Waverly Boyle. Then Burrows, last but by no means least, after all the pillars of his little empire had collapsed around him.

Corvo had found ways around killing his targets. Ways to keep his promise to leave lethal violence behind whenever possible. 

He’d branded Campbell a heretic, to be kicked out into the gutters by his own twisted cult. He’d made a deal with local gang leader Slackjaw to have the Pendleton twins shipped to the south, to be enslaved in their own mines. Waverly Boyle he’d delivered, unconscious, to a lovesick rich guy who’d promised to take her far away.  
And Hiram Burrows himself, he’d handed over to the authorities, with the Spymaster’s every crime exposed. Not that Burrows would actually survive for long in prison. Not after Corvo had leaked the compulsive man’s extensive voice records of his shady dealings on the internet for all the world to listen to. Everyone the man had ever crossed, everyone now implicated, would be after their own bit of revenge soon. 

All that had been left to do was finding Emily. Finding her and then getting to the hitman who’d been hired to kill Jess. 

They’d raised their glasses to it, as soon as Corvo had returned from his latest mission, a few bullets still stuck in him. Corvo saw their flickering faces before him. Havelock, Martin, Pendleton. Smiling. Their mouths, spilling compliments and promises of a brighter future. The glass of whiskey they’d offered him. The rich amber color of the liquid. The smokey smell of it. The burn down his throat.  
And then their gloating as he’d tumbled to the floor. Burrows’ empire, rife for their picking. Corvo’s convulsing form on the ground, soon to be a corpse ready to take all the blame. 

-

Corvo’s eyes fluttered open. 

He was alive. 

They’d miscalculated the dose. Had left what they’d thought to be his dead body alone on that cold floor. Hadn’t been there to notice when he’d scrambled up, heaving and shuddering.

They had made a terrible mistake.

A young man who later introduced himself as Vasco, Dr. Hypatia’s assistant, came rushing over to check Corvo’s vitals. Told him everything would be alright. The doctor herself came to see him soon after. 

-

Alexandria Hypatia sent him to his room a few days after he’d regained consciousness. She empathized for him to take it easy every step of their way towards the elevator. As if she didn’t believe he would take care of himself without being reminded to. She had known him for a long time, after all. Corvo admitted to himself she might have a point.

“And I do mean it, Mr. Attano,” she told him when they reached the end of the floor. “I’m not sure I’m glad to see you here again on principle. After all this time of not having to dig bullets out of you, I had hoped you might have gotten away from all of this for good. But I am glad I managed to counteract that poison. So please, don’t go around getting yourself hurt for at least two more days.”

Corvo entered the elevator and turned around to face her. “I promise I’ll try, doc,” he said with a tired smile.

She looked less than convinced when the doors slid shut.

Alone in his room, Corvo did do his best to rest. It wasn’t going well, despite genuine effort on his part. It should have been possible to relax at least somewhat, he assumed.  
The surroundings were still familiar to him. He was safe on the Continental’s grounds, the rules of no bloodshed in the hotel ingrained into everyone who entered it. He felt at ease here in a way he hadn’t in weeks. And by the Void, he was still so tired.  
And yet there was no rest to be had. Sleep would not come. His thoughts kept racing. They turned to Emily over and over again.

She hadn’t been with the Pendletons, as the data Corvo had recovered from Campbell had suggested. Burrows’ files had mentioned, in an increasingly disbelieving and frustrated tone, that the man charged with the job of murdering Jess hadn’t delivered Emily as agreed.  
That was about all Corvo had been able to recover about the assassin Burrows had hired. That it was a man. There had also been some hints the guy didn’t work alone. He seemed to have some people under his direct command. But that was it. Burrows hadn’t used the man’s name. Not even an alias. It might have suggested it was someone new to the trade, someone unimportant, but Corvo doubted it. Jessamine’s murder, as much as it hurt to think about it from a such a clinical point of view, had been flawless.  
No, the more likely explanation was that Burrows hadn’t wanted to implicate his hitman in any way. Considering how safe the Spymaster had believed his files to be, that said something about the man’s paranoia towards the assassin. Whoever had been ordered to kill Jess, he was dangerous, even by the standards of the world people like Hiram Burrows and Corvo himself inhabited. 

The question that riled Corvo up more than any other, therefore, was what a man like that would have done to the little girl he’d torn from her dead mother. What if Emily was dead already? What if she’d been dead for weeks, buried and rotting somewhere, while her father had been busy wading through Dunwall’s underworld, taking out some of its power players? 

Could he ever forgive himself should he find out he was too late to help her?

Corvo got up from the bed. Put on some fresh clothes, placed in the room for him before he’d even been out of Dr. Hypatia’s care. He needed to move. Needed to escape his thoughts, if only for a little while. 

It was early in the night and even if he should probably distrust any drink after what he’d been through in the last couple of days, he decided to head down to the hotel’s bar. 

Anything was better than sitting here, unable to do anything useful, and very much aware of it.

-

It turned out to be a slow night. There were few guests around, but the woman behind the bar was a familiar face.

“Long time no see,” Lydia greeted him with a smirk. She gave him a once-over. “You look like shit.”

“Feel like it, too.” He smiled back, despite his less than cheerful mood, glad to see her after all these years. Lydia had always been brisk and brutally honest, but also genuine and caring, in her own way. A fresh wind in the often twisting, shifting politics of the place. “And I could use a drink.”

“Sure.” Her smirk took on an even more teasing tilt. “Do you still prefer that horrible burning stuff that smells like charred wood?”

He shook his head, expression sobering. “No whiskey today. Lost my taste for it for now.”

He glanced up at the extensive list of beverages on display above the bar.

“Got any suggestions?” he asked.

“We have a spiced rum from Serkonos,” Lydia answered, grabbing a slim bottle with a dark golden liquid in it from behind her. “It’s a limited batch. We’ve only got ten bottles. The guy over at the back window likes it. He said he hails from Cullero and that the stuff is pretty well known and popular there.” 

Lydia leaned closer, her voice dropping in volume. “He also said you might walk in here tonight. I’m supposed to tell you he wants to talk. And to remind you of the rules we all have to abide by in the Continental.”

Corvo didn’t look around at her words. Instead he glanced in one of the large mirrors that lined the back of the bar. He couldn’t get a good look at the man Lydia had indicated. The booth at the back was pretty secluded. Which was probably the point, really.  
He caught a glimpse of dark hair, slicked back with some product, but nothing more. Nothing telling.

He turned his attention back to Lydia. “Any idea who he is or what he wants from me?”

“Sorry, Corvo.” She shrugged, then held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “You know this is an intel-free zone. You’ll have to go over and ask him yourself.”

He nodded. “I guess I’ll have some of that rum, then. Who knows if I’ll need it?”

It wasn’t so much about the rum as it was about the sturdy glass it came in. The Continental had a strict prohibition in place when it came to any sort of violence inside its walls, but Corvo would still feel better with a weapon to hand, even an improvised one. Just the fact the man had told Lydia to explicitly mention the policy was a good indication this wasn’t going to be a pretty conversation.

Corvo grabbed his drink and made his way over. The guy sat on the side of the booth that had its back towards the room. Corvo approached at angle that wouldn’t let him be seen until he was right at the table. He moved swiftly but silently. And yet the man addressed him without turning his head when Corvo was still a good three steps away.

“Attano. Glad to see you up on your feet.” It wasn’t a voice Corvo knew. With its distinct deep, raspy quality, he liked to think he would recognize it, had he heard it before.

Not wanting to show he’d been caught off guard, Corvo kept moving smoothly, stepping up to the table as intended. He looked the man sitting there over. He’d been right in that they hadn’t met before. But Corvo knew who it was instantly, nonetheless.

The stranger was clearly of serkonan heritage, with his tan skin and dark hair, very much like Corvo’s own. He had to be in his early to mid-forties at a guess. Strong features, broad shoulders, striking grey eyes. But what gave his identity away was the long, deep scar running over the right side of his face.  
Daud. Last name unknown. Codenamed simply ‘The Knife’. A moniker as feared as Corvo’s own Masked Fellon, if not more so. Their paths might have never crossed, but Corvo had been aware of the man’s deeds by hearsay. And it seemed Daud was, in turn, aware of who Corvo had been. Who he now was, albeit reluctantly, again. But what did the infamous Knife want from him? 

Intrigued, Corvo slid into the booth opposite the other assassin. He didn’t say anything, just took in the man’s appearance for a moment. It tended to make most people nervous. Got them talking to bridge the silence. Not so the killer before him. Daud seemed to analyze him the same way he was doing, unrushed and uncaring that it was noticed for what it was.  
Corvo scanned the lines of the man’s dark suit, accentuated by a bloodred shirt, for telltale hints of hidden weapons. There were none, but he didn’t think for a moment that it meant there actually weren’t any. He noted the thin leather-gloves. Obviously high quality. Obviously well-worn. No fingerprints left behind, not even in the bar of a safe haven for people like them. Cautious. Smart.  
He watched Daud for signs of discomfort as the silence stretched on, but the man’s face gave nothing away. After about a minute, Corvo decided it was time to begin the conversation proper.

“It’s Daud, isn’t it?” he asked casually. Start light. See what this was about.

“It is,” the man answered. “But you already got that, didn’t you? Why else give me the time of day on your first break of what you’ve gone through the last couple of weeks?”

Corvo frowned mildly. Discretion was a big part of the Continental’s rules. Nobody but the staff should know about his stay in recuperation. And his hunt for Burrows and his allies was hardly common knowledge, not even by word on the street. Nor, consequently, by word in places like this one.

“And what do you think you know about my last couple of weeks?” Corvo asked.

Daud’s expression remained impassive, but there was something watchful in his gaze as he spoke. “I know a great deal, Attano. I know you are behind the fall of the Spymaster. I know you toppled Campbell and the Pendletons to get to him. I even know what you did to one of the Boyle sisters, to cut off Burrows’ financial support.”

Corvo’s frown deepened. This was already more information than anyone uninvolved should have been able to get at. And Daud had more detailed information still on all of those points, the way he’d listed them.  
Was he working for Havelock? Was this supposed to be a declaration of his intend to go after Corvo? A professional curtesy, honor among assassins?  
Before Corvo could voice any of those questions, however, Daud leaned slightly forward. Lowered his voice to a raspy whisper when he spoke next.

“I also know the reason why you targeted Burrows in the first place.”

Corvo went cold all over as the words sank in. Then his frown turned into a snarl of fury. 

His right hand shot forward, clawing into the soft fabric of Daud’s suit. He pulled the man forward, towards him. Daud quickly moved his left arm to stop himself from crashing into the tabletop, but otherwise made no move to protect himself. He remained leaning awkwardly halfway across the table, off center, with their faces just inches apart. Expression still frustratingly devoid of any emotion, despite the fact he’d just as good as admitted to shattering Corvo’s world. 

In that moment, there was nothing Corvo wanted more than to shatter every bone in the man’s body in retaliation. 

“You,” Corvo hissed, voice so full of venom he hardly recognized it himself. “You killed her.”

There was the slightest bit of a flinch. Barely there. But it was like a spark to ignite a wildfire. Corvo wanted more than a flinch from the other assassin. He wanted howls of pain. He wanted fear. He wanted Jessamine’s name to be the last thing Daud heard before Corvo slit his throat.

“I did,” Daud said without hesitation. “And I’ve come to regret it.”

The man’s voice was much too calm for Corvo’s liking as he continued. 

“I didn’t know who she was or why Burrows wanted her dead. I didn’t care. But when I found out her death was supposed to be a repercussion for your walking out on one of the bastard’s contracts, it didn’t sit well with me. It’s not how things are done in this business. You were out, and Burrows refused to respect that.”

Daud’s eyes were on his the entire time. Unblinking. Unshaken, despite the fact he was talking about the worst day in Corvo’s life. And there were some pretty strong contestants to that title. 

“I know it won’t mean jack shit to you,” Daud ended his little speech, “but I wish I hadn’t killed her.”

“You’re right,” Corvo snarled, “it doesn’t mean shit to me. I’m going to make you pay for what you did.”

“You’d have every right to.” Daud’s eyes flitted over to the bar. “But I suggest you don’t go about it here and now. You know what happens if you break the peace in a sanctuary.”

Corvo glanced over at the bar in his turn. Lydia was holding back two guards with calming gestures. Reluctantly, he let go of Daud’s suit, allowing both of them to settle back down in a show of goodwill. He waited until the guards took note and subsequently left, the corner of one eye trained on Daud all the while. When everyone’s attention had left them, he faced the killer across from him again.

“Why are you confessing to me?” he asked, keeping his voice halfway civil by sheer force of will. “Are you hoping for my forgiveness? That I will let you off the hook just because you’ve dug up the remains of your conscience from somewhere?”

Daud shook his head slowly. “Nothing of the sort. Like I said, you’ve every right to kill me for what I took from you. And I’ll give you your chance. I won’t just roll over and offer my throat, of course. I’m sure you understand I won’t make it that easy for you. But you can have your shot at taking me down, if that’s what you wish. All I ask is that you hear me out first.”

Loath as he was to admit it, Corvo was surprised. Curious, too. 

“Fine,” he ground out. “Say what you have to say to me. I doubt it’ll change a thing.”

“Not for me, most likely.” Daud wrapped his hand around his drink, abandoned next to him since Corvo had come over. He downed the rest of the liquid in one long gulp. Corvo hadn’t touched his own drink yet. He wasn’t about to. He wanted his head as clear as possible for whatever the other man had in store for him.

“It won’t change things for me,” Daud continued. “But it can for you. I’m sure you know by now Burrows never got his hands on your daughter.”

Emily. Dread and guilt flooded Corvo. He’d been so preoccupied with what had happened to Jess, he hadn’t even thought about his little girl during this whole conversation. Damn it, but what kind of father thought of vengeance first and his own child last? The snarl came back to his face with full force.

“If you’ve touched so much as a hair on her head, I swear-”

“She’s safe,” Daud interrupted him. There was a grim set to his mouth now. As if he was actually angry Corvo would accuse him of hurting a child. “My people are taking care of her. She’s safe, unharmed, and constantly asking about you.”

“What about her mother? Does she ask for her, too?” Corvo would admit he felt a grim satisfaction at seeing that flinch again. At the guilt flickering briefly in Daud’s grey eyes at the question, before they could turn all cold and calculating again. It served the man right. 

“She used to,” Daud admitted. “Until I told her what I did.”

“You what?!” Corvo couldn’t say whether he was more outraged or stunned at the guy’s audacity. “First you murder Emily’s mother in cold blood and then you tell her all about it? You told a five-year-old you stabbed her mother to death?”

If the threat of excommunication weren’t hanging over him, Corvo would have torn the fucker limb from limb right then and there. How dare he?

“Calm down, Attano.” Daud held up a hand in an appeasing gesture. Needless to say it did nothing to appease Corvo. “It’s not like I gave her a detailed account. Give me a little credit. I may be a monster, but I do have some lines I won’t cross. Your girl knows her mother is dead. She knows it was me who did it. She understands it was for money, on somebody else’s orders, and that I’m keeping her safe to make at least some amends. She’s a very smart kid for her age.” 

“Don’t lecture me on my own daughter.” Corvo leant forward, keeping his voice down. His previous outburst hadn’t garnered too much attention from around them, but he didn’t want to risk any third parties catching on to his predicament. “Listen to me. You’re going to hand Emily over to me as soon as humanly possible. No bargaining. No discussions.”

Daud expression turned, if that was possible, even colder. So did his voice. “Much as I understand the sentiment, you might want to reconsider that.”

“Oh, would I now?” Corvo hissed through clenched teeth. His hands balled into fists underneath the table.

“Yes, you would.” Daud’s tone was deadly serious and his eyes were boring into Corvo’s. “Think about it. Nobody but you, me, and a select few of my best people even know she’s alive. Not any of Burrows’ leftover associates. Not the people who tried to put you six feet under after you did their dirty work for them. She’s safer this way then you could ever keep her until you’ve tied up your loose ends.”

That gave Corvo pause. 

He still had to deal with Havelock’s conspiracy, it was true. And he would have to go to great lengths to keep Emily from becoming collateral damage while he did so. He could try to leave her at the hotel. On neutral ground. Maybe Lydia or Samuel would agree to look after her. But if someone truly meant her harm, they could always find a way to get her outside while Corvo wasn’t there. One step over the Continental’s borders and there would be nothing to stop anyone from hurting her.  
And, sad as it was, there was nobody Corvo trusted more than himself to keep her safe. There were people he knew to have Emily’s best interests at heart, but none of them had anything to do with his past life. They wouldn’t stand a chance against what might come for them. Then there were old contacts who would theoretically be able to protect Emily, but whom Corvo didn’t trust not to sell her out at the first opportunity.  
She would in fact be safer the less people knew she was alive, he realized. At least until Havelock and his associates were gone for good. And it seemed Daud was well aware of all those facts aswell. The man’s intel was very good, however much of an asshole he was. 

Damn it all, but Daud had a point and Corvo was struggling to find a bulletproof counterargument that amounted to more than ‘I fucking hate you for murdering my wife.’ That in and of itself should have been more than enough to dismiss anything the man had to say outright. Leaving Emily in Daud’s hands in order to keep her out of harm’s way simply wasn’t an option. Surely not. 

Void, he was already starting to consider it, wasn’t he? 

If keeping Emily safe was worth working with her mother’s murderer, even temporarily.

Corvo let out a sigh. Well, if put like that, it really wasn’t much of a choice at all, was it?

“What’s it to you?” he asked Daud, knowing he was only digging himself deeper by letting the man voice his reasons further. “Whether or not Emily makes it out of this alive?”

“Nothing, to be honest.” Daud gave a short, one-shouldered shrug. “But like I said, I’m trying to make what amends I can. I can’t possibly make this right, I know that. But what I can do is try to keep a bad situation from getting worse. So I’m offering to keep your daughter protected until you’ve dealt with your enemies. And once everything is said and done, and you still want blood repaid in blood, well.” Another shrug. “You’ll be free to come for me and carve your vengeance out of my hide.”

Corvo scoffed. Shook his head disbelievingly. “You want to be punished that badly, huh?”

“It’s not about punishment. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Attano, but the world doesn’t go out of its way to punish the wicked.” 

Daud’s expression was guarded. His next words came reluctantly, as if he was speaking them against his better judgement. 

“You’re not the only one who’s ever considered getting out. I’ve thought about it once or twice myself. But I’ve got a lot of people depending on me. People I care about. I can’t imagine what I’d do if some entitled fuck like Burrows went after them just to get back at me. And over something as simple as leaving the job behind, too.” 

There was a silence between them after that. It was thoughtful. Calculating. Each man reflecting on the words they’d spoken, the things they’d revealed about themselves. Each of them considering their next move. 

After a while, Daud’s gaze swept over Corvo again. A final assessment. He was the first to speak again.

“So, what do you say?” he rasped, holding out his hand over the table. “Do we have a truce? Or an armistice, at least, until you’ve done what you need to do?”

Corvo hesitated. Took a deep breath. Let it out hissing through his teeth. 

Then he shook Daud’s hand.

“Tell me,” Corvo said, “since you know such a great many things. What do you have on Farley Havelock, Treavor Pendleton and Teague Martin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what happened here is that I started writing again during lockdown. And for once in my life, I decided that I might actually want to throw what I wrote out into the endless depths of the internet. :D
> 
> I have two more chapters in the making for the whole 'Dishonored, John Wick style' thing. One is going to be the story ending on High Chaos, one on Low Chaos. Let's see where those go, shall we?


	2. All come to ruin (High Chaos Ending)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Canon-typical Violence and Major Character Death still stand. And HighChaos!Corvo is his own warning, really.
> 
> There's also a mention of some one-sided Corvo/Daud attraction. It's like two sentences, but still.

There were shouts coming over the various communication feats. Shouts of surprise, followed by ones of pain, most often. Followed by nothing at all, sometimes, from those whose lives were cut short before they could make any further sound. Their frequency had been growing for the past twenty minutes, interrupted by orders barked, by problems barked back. And by gunfire. By bullets fired, again and again. Ringing out over the cacophony of their defeat, of Daud’s defeat, moving steadily nearer. 

“Sir, Attano is on the third floor as we speak,” Thomas said urgently, still trying his not inconsiderable best to order the chaos going on below. “I don’t know how he made it past Tynan’s team, but Rulfio managed to tell me they were going down before his feat cut off-“ 

Daud raised a hand, stopping his new second in command’s report. “That will be all, Thomas. You can leave now. I suggest you use the fire-escape to avoid running into Corvo.”

“Sir?” Thomas sounded insecure. That didn’t happen often these days. The young man had grown to be confident and competent in the years under Daud’s tutelage. Now he was sounding almost pleading. “Surely you can’t mean to fight him alone? Not that I don’t believe you could, but… well, why risk it?”

There was no risk in it, from where Daud was standing. Risk implied multiple possible outcomes, some more favorable than others. But there was only one conceivable ending to his story now. He knew exactly how this day would end. And he had allowed too many of his people to die trying to stop the inevitable for long enough.  
It had surprised him. Just how many of them were willing to throw themselves into harm’s way for him like this. How many had ignored his urgings to leave while they still could. But that didn’t mean he would stand idly by to let every single one of them be slaughtered, their own sentiments on the matter be damned. Some were still left to walk away, so they would.

“Because my reckoning was always coming.” Daud’s voice was calm. Matter of fact. “Sooner or later, it comes for everyone who’s done the things I’ve done. You can be assured that I’ll fight every step of the way, but between me and Corvo? He has made it pretty clear that he’s the more stubborn bastard, especially when it comes to eliminating those who wronged him.”

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but Daud cut him off with a shake of his head. No need to discuss this further. He’d made his decisions and futilely arguing about them would only cost more of theirs their lives in the meantime. 

“Today’s the day I die,” Daud said firmly. Any wavering on his part would only incite further disagreement. “I appreciate the loyalty of everyone who stood by my side. But I simply refuse to let anyone else get killed on my behalf. It’s time for you to walk out.”

Thomas looked stricken. His voice was soft when he spoke again. “Sir, I-” He cut himself off. Took a breath and started again. “Daud. You can’t mean that. Attano is just one man, we can stop him. Please, you don’t have to do this on your own.”

“Yes, I do.” Daud’s voice had steel in it now. No more arguments. No more delaying what was coming, sure as the sun setting outside. “I brought this down on myself and I’m going to face the consequences. Get out. Now. Tell everyone still breathing to do the same.”

Thomas didn’t move for a few seconds. He looked ready to try reasoning again. Then he just looked defeated. Finally, he pulled himself together and saluted Daud in their customary way. Right hand in a fist, arm crossed over his chest, he bowed. “It was an honor working for you, sir.”

Thomas left. Daud heard him giving orders of retreat over the communication feats as he walked away, sounding sure and unwavering. Cutting off the same sorts of protest he’d voiced himself just minutes ago. In that moment, Daud was sure he couldn’t have chosen a better second in command after he’d send Billie away. Whatever came next, he was sure Thomas would do well for himself. 

When he stood alone in his office, Daud allowed himself a sigh of relieve. A few would make it out. Corvo was coming for him, but the man wouldn’t destroy everything he’d built.  
Daud had taken many lives, but he’d saved some too. At least some of them would survive this day and built new existences for themselves.  
It was enough.

Facing the large screens on the wall behind his desk, he pulled up the information on his latest targets. He opened a file on the middle screen, magnified it to almost fill it completely. It showed a picture of a woman. A pretty woman in her early thirties, black hair twisted up in an elegant bun. The words ‘Kaldwin, Jessamine – Status: Contract completed’ stood out stark white at the picture’s bottom.  
To think that of all his targets, all his victims, this was the one who would bring Daud to his knees. He would never have suspected it, the day he’d ambushed her in her kitchen and put a knife in her heart.  
She’d been too surprised to struggle. She’d just looked at him with her bright blue eyes. He’d watched them grow dim as her life had slipped from her grasp. Then he’d gone to take her daughter with him. And now the man who’d been left behind to mourn the woman and search for the child was now making his way ever closer, set on taking a life for a life.

Although considering the mountain of corpses Corvo Attano had left in his wake, Jessamine Kaldwin’s blood had been washed away by a flood. Not that Daud had much room to judge when it came to someone’s body count. Still, had he known what a butcher Corvo would become, he might’ve kept Emily well away from her father. 

Daud sighed again. 

What was done was done. 

He’d kept the girl safe. From more people than either her or her father knew of. He’d returned her to Corvo. And now that he was no longer of use to the man, he was coming to end Daud’s life. 

It was simply the way things were, in their line of work. 

-

Daud heard the footsteps but didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on the picture of Jessamine Kaldwin as he heard someone move ever closer behind him. The steps stopped a pace or two away, right behind his back. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

Corvo was the first to speak, for once. 

“Is that how you wish to die? While looking at her face?” He came nearer still, right up behind Daud, until their bodies were almost touching. Corvo tilted his head forward, hissed his next words right into Daud’s ear. “I approve. She should be the last thing you see. After all, your face was the last thing she ever saw, wasn’t it?” 

Daud flicked his eyes over to Corvo’s face. Ah. He’d suspected as much when he’d heard how distorted the man’s voice sounded. 

“While we’re discussing the terms of my demise,” Daud answered calmly, “how about you take that mask of? It wasn’t the Masked Felon I wronged. It was Corvo Attano. He should be the one to end me, wouldn’t you say?”

That hideous metal-skull tilted back when Corvo barked a laugh. “Very well.” He didn’t move away as he pulled the mask from his face, letting it fall to the floor with a solid clunk right next to the two of them. “Better?” 

The smile Corvo gave him when Daud finally turned around was all teeth and bloodlust. 

“Not really,” Daud told him. “But more honest, at least.”

They were standing close. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Something would have to give, and soon. They both knew it.

“Tell me, Daud, are you going to ask me for your life?” Corvo all but drawled. “I’m not going to spare you, but I might make it quick if you beg.”

“Tempting,” Daud threw back, the word dripping sarcasm. “But I told you the first time we met I wasn’t going to make this easy for you. I intend to stick by that statement.”

“I’d hoped you would say something like that,” Corvo said, eyes narrowing on him in anticipation of a fight. “Show me what you’ve got, Old Knife.”

As if given an intangible signal, both of them jumped back a pace simultaneously, gaining some ground. Each landing in a fighting stance. 

Corvo drew a gun with his left and Daud rushed at him, blocking the hand holding the weapon and twisting it down, disarming in one smooth movement. Corvo’s other hand, balled into a fist, was crashing into Daud’s ribs before the gun even landed the ground. Daud took the hit, painful but not doing much damage in and of itself, and turned into it. Hand still on Corvo’s arm, Daud used the momentum to throw the other man over his hip. 

Corvo thumped into the floor, rolling up with ease, coming at Daud again immediately. A flash of bright metal was all the warning Daud got that Corvo had pulled a knife out somewhere along the way. 

He sidestepped Corvo’s first lunge, blocked the following swipe with his left arm and used the opening the move had created to deal Corvo a punch to the face. Corvo’s head snapped back with a crunch.  
Turning his hand, Daud’s block twisted fluidly into a firm grip on Corvo’s wrist, keeping the man’s knife at arm’s length and its range of movement severely limited. 

Safe from the blade for now, Daud dropped his right hand to his waistband, pulling out his own combat knife. 

Corvo refocused just in time to jerk back from the thrust Daud aimed at his abdomen. The movement was hardly elegant, but it was powerful, fueled by instinct. Strong enough to pull Daud with him, since the older man was holding onto Corvo’s armed right hand tightly. 

Daud had to take a balancing step to not lose his footing and that was all the opportunity Corvo needed. 

He tackled Daud to the ground. Straddling his waist, Corvo was gaining the upper hand fast. He twisted his right arm out of Daud’s tight grasp, getting his knife ready again.

Daud reared up in a vicious strike, blade aimed at Corvo’s stomach once more. 

Corvo blocked the attack with his own knife. Its edge was digging into Daud’s arm above the wrist, stopping the attack short. Hearing a hiss of pain from the man underneath him, Corvo ripped the blade down an inch in one quick movement, keeping the pressure up all the while, keeping the block effective. 

The knife bit deep into Daud’s flesh, blood welling up fast. 

Daud’s hand spasmed in pain. He lost the grip on his weapon, knife clattering to the floor next to them. 

Corvo used the moment to punch Daud in the face. There were two impacts. The first came as Corvo’s fist connected with Daud’s cheek, the second as the back of Daud’s head connected with the ground. 

Corvo watched for a second in satisfied amusement as the man beneath him struggled to focus, as he was grasping blindly, desperately for his lost knife with his bleeding hand. 

Then, Corvo slid the fallen blade far out of Daud’s reach. 

He wrapped his left hand around Daud’s throat almost lazily. Flexed his fingers, pushed down, cutting off his opponent’s air supply. 

Daud’s uninjured arm came up to push him off and Corvo reacted with a deep cut down its entire length, making Daud flinch it back. He didn’t move his fingers an inch as Daud’s bloodied hands tried to pry them away ever more urgently. Shifted easily with his movements as he tried to buck Corvo off.

Fuck it, but it was kind of distracting. Corvo could admit to himself that if Daud weren’t who he was, hadn’t done what he’d done, he would have liked to have the man underneath him like this for quite different reasons. But there was no changing the past. And that meant Daud had to die today. Just not quite yet. 

Not like this.

Just as the struggling had almost ceased, Corvo relaxed his fingers. He could feel the air rushing back into Daud beneath their tips. He let the man suck in a few greedy gasps. Then Corvo moved his hand from Daud’s neck to his collar, grasping the fabric tightly. 

He got up and dragged Daud to his knees. The older man was still trying to fight back, but it was significantly less troublesome thanks to the recent oxygen loss. Letting go of the collar, Corvo moved behind Daud, burying his left hand in the short, thick hair at back of the man’s head. Forced him to look up. To look at the picture of Jessamine again. 

Corvo’s right hand came up to place his knife at Daud’s throat.

Leaning closer, he whispered his farewell into the ear of the last man left he hated enough to kill like this. All up close and personal. “You know, I wasn’t quite honest with you. Emily already asked me to make your death quick. It seems she took a bit of a liking to you, believe it or not. So, no begging needed.”

Daud’s breath came harsh, but he’d stopped struggling. Stopped trying to fight. To escape. “Just do it already,” he spat out and damn it, but Corvo was going to miss that raspy growl of a voice. Just not enough to stop now. 

He increased the pressure of the blade on Daud’s skin. Felt the first trickle of blood run hot over his fingers.

“Goodbye, Daud,” Corvo said quietly. “Say hello to Jess for me.”

He sliced Daud’s neck open. Kept his grip on the man’s hair until all movement ceased. Then he let the corpse drop to the floor. 

Corvo walked away, picking his infamous mask back up as he went, without a single look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;___;
> 
> (I have no excuses except that the Low Chaos Ending will be coming up soon.)


	3. Old ways, changing (Low Chaos Ending)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings for this one. Just a nicer, somewhat less bloody ending to this fusion 'verse.

The sun over Karnaca always seemed to be a different one than the one over Dunwall. That was nonsense, of course. It was the same star, no matter where you stood on earth. And still, it felt warmer and brighter on the serkonan shore to Daud.

He was standing on a pier in the early morning hours. It had become somewhat of a habit as of late. There was something calming about the sound of the endless waves, the screams of the seagulls. Something peaceful, in a way, even if he knew the streets behind him would soon be bustling with people, thrumming with commerce. With adults bargaining, children playing, the air thick with the sounds of life, trade and with the cloying, ever-present smell of fish blood. But for now, there weren’t many people around. The fishermen had already left to make their first catch and almost everyone else was still busy waking up. 

He would have liked to call it a routine. The start of structured day ahead, beginning with a lungful of fresh sea air. Healthy. Wholesome. And all that. But he knew it wasn’t.  
He quite simply hadn’t gotten used to the rhythm of everyday life around him. Or, more accurately, to life outside his former profession in general.  
He kept telling himself peace of mind would come with time, but the excuse was starting to wear thin. Had to be threadbare by now. And to think he used to tell his people he had no use for excuses or apologies both. But then he’d also often told them he had no use for regrets either and look how that turned out. Sometimes he was glad none of his former crew were with him now to call out his hypocrisy. When he wasn’t busy missing most of them with a fierceness that often surprised himself in his idle moments, that was.  
Truth be told, he still didn’t rightly know what to do with himself. His visits to the ocean line at ungodly hours were no sign of progress in that area, they were merely a symptom of an unceasing, unforgiving, utterly bothersome restlessness. He wasn’t ready for retirement, that much had become ever clearer as the first years of his exile passed. But it also wasn’t like he had the mastery of a skillset that didn’t involve violence or subterfuge to some degree or other, the very things he’d planned to leave behind for good. None that would let him build a new career on, anyway. He’d taken up carving wood, for one thing. It was a nice way of using his expertise with a blade to make things instead of destroying them. But it was a slow going. More of a hobby, really. Nothing to keep him occupied for most of his days.

Frankly put, Daud was itching for some action, for some whiff of the danger that had once earned his bread and butter. Old ways die hard, after all. And it seemed his were especially stubborn.  
There was a joke at his expense in there somewhere, he suspected, but he had a notion that if he’d try to pry it out, he’d hear it in Billie’s voice, and so he dropped it. She was another of his regrets. It seemed the little bastards started multiplying as soon as you admitted to even one of them.

-

He heard the footsteps behind him over the sound of the waves and the birds’ cries. Measured steps, but with intend behind them. Not just someone walking up the pier. Someone walking towards him.  
Daud recognized those steps. Knew instantly who it was coming to a stand a good long pace behind his back. Anticipation ran through his veins. And by the Void, the feeling was welcome.  
So much, he supposed, for leaving it all behind. The first reminder of his old life came knocking and he was making ready to leap right back into it, already judging the distance to his surprise visitor and the possible advantages of his environment. He couldn’t have rightly said whether he was expecting a fight or hoping for one.  
A bit of both, perhaps.

Maybe Daud wasn’t the only one with regrets. Maybe Corvo Attano had come to regret staying his hand all those years ago. Had come to settle their score after all. 

Daud distinctly remembered the unexpected mercy he’d received back then hinging on the condition of never showing his face to the man again. Perhaps it should have worried him that it was Corvo approaching him now. But all he felt, besides the rush of adrenalin preceding battle, was overwhelming relieve. His little stint in retiring suddenly seemed like nothing but time spent waiting. A half-assed attempt to bridge a gap until the inevitable caught up.  
And now the wait was over. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d longed for it to be. Old ways die hard, indeed. 

He didn’t turn around, choosing to let Corvo take the lead. He hadn’t been attacked on sight, so Daud presumed there would be words first. Considering how many of those he’d spilled on their last encounter, asking for his life from a man he’d wronged so gravely and thoroughly, it seemed only fair to let his visitor say his piece.  
Corvo took his time with it, though, the silence between them stretching. Just as Daud was about to break it with a scathing remark, or maybe a pointed question, he heard a soft sigh from behind him. 

“I didn’t think you’d head for Serkonos,” Corvo said. He sounded calm, collected. Civil. Not like someone out for blood, but that could change quickly enough in Daud’s experience. 

“Too predictable, I guessed,” Corvo continued. “Too nostalgic. You never struck me as the type for either.”

“What can I say?” Daud eyes were still fixed on the water in front of him, but every other sense was trained on the man standing no more than one long stride away. “I missed being warm for once. Dunwall’s wet and freezing even on a good day.”

Corvo huffed. It might have been in agreement. Might be there was even some amusement in it. “True enough. Maybe I should’ve figured you wouldn’t fancy a place even colder and rainier. It would’ve cost me a lot less coin if I’d known having people on the watch out for you in Morley’s permanent drizzle was a waste of time.” 

Daud’s eyes narrowed. So this wasn’t some chance encounter. He hadn’t really supposed it was, but still, it never hurt to confirm your theories. Corvo wanted something from him, then. Daud’s severed head on a pike came to mind.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to go and turn over every lost little cabin in the tyvian taiga next. If you hadn’t left the Isles altogether,” Corvo told him, and the next words were tinged with some sort of dark, disbelieving humor. “And then it turned out all I had to do was visit the nearest place with some actual sunshine to it.” 

A frown was making its way onto Daud’s face. Corvo had gone to quite the lengths to find him, and been about to go to further ones still. It seemed… excessive, somehow, just for the chance to shed some blood. Even the blood of an old enemy.  
And if he wanted to rid the world of Daud so badly he’d built a spy-ring around the Isles for it, Corvo was currently doing a damn good job of hiding his murderous intend. The man’s demeanor was a far cry from the righteous, cold fury he’d worn like a cloak while taking down half of Dunwall’s underworld.  
Something about it made suspicion flicker up. Made Daud begin to think this might be about more than belated revenge. It was intriguing. He turned around. 

Corvo looked well. His hair was shorter, if still an unruly dark mass. The man had also apparently decided to give the stubble that used to seem a permanent feature the chance to grow into an actual, well-trimmed beard. Then there was the dark blue suit, its elegant cut concealing a gun and at least two knives from the untrained eye.  
Daud wondered how many weapons there were he didn’t notice right away. His own eyes likely weren’t all that sharp anymore, after years of being out of the game.  
What was perfectly clear, eyes trained or not, was that Corvo still stood just as tall, still looked just as strong as Daud remembered. Still radiated a calm, steady confidence. But, to add to Daud’s growing suspicions, he indeed didn’t look like he’d come to fight at all. 

He remembered very well what Corvo Attano looked like when he was about to fight someone. About to kill someone. It had almost been the last thing Daud ever saw, only spared by the other man’s inexplicable last-minute capacity for mercy. It had left a lasting impression, to say the least. And it didn’t match the behavior he was witnessing now.  
No, unlikely as it was, it seemed Corvo really had come to talk. 

But why invest all that time and coin and effort just for a chat? 

“So you were searching for me.” Daud kept his voice neutral. No need to let his mounting curiosity shine through too obviously. “What happens now that you’ve found me? Why come looking for me after all this time?”

“Because I’ve got some questions only you can answer.” 

The response was prompt. No hesitation. No hint of subterfuge. The truth, most likely.

“That so?” Daud raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s drop the small-talk and get to it, shall we?”

The corner of Corvo’s mouth ticked up into a smirk. It was gone again as fast as it had come.  
“Alright.” His expression turned sober, voice serious. “I need you to answer thoroughly and I need you to answer honestly, no matter what.”

“I’m guilty of many things,” Daud responded evenly, “but I’ve never lied to you. What do you want to know about?”

“Delilah.” Corvo near spat the name, and Daud’s eyes widened in surprise. Whatever he’d suspected this might be about, she hadn’t come to mind. He’d dealt with her. He’d thought permanently so.

“I see the name means something to you.” Corvo came forward, shortening the distance between them to one small step. His eyes were fixed on Daud’s. “I know you’ve had dealings with her in the past. A feud that you walked away from unscathed and she didn’t. What I need are the details of that story. Your side of it.”

Daud had to suppress a snarl. Five years and that damned woman still got under his skin. “I wouldn’t call it unscathed. She decided I was in her way and tried to take me down. It didn’t work, but I lost a lot of good people to her schemes.”

“Billie Lurk among them,” Corvo stated, matter of fact.

Daud stared, not knowing how to respond for a moment. Something terrible, terrified was curling in his gut, twisting in his stomach. 

“How do you know that name?” The words came quiet and deceptively soft. There was an unspoken threat behind every single one. The message seemed to come across loud and clear nonetheless. 

“She’s fine, Daud.” Corvo held up his hands in an appeasing gesture. It did nothing to appease. The situation seemed vaguely familiar. “She’s fine and she’s my friend. If not for her, I would most likely be dead by now. She smuggled me and Emily out of Dunwall when Delilah took over.”

Well. Daud would admit that was a whole lot of information to take in. Best to focus on the most fantastic sounding piece of the tale first, he reckoned.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me Delilah is back?” 

It shouldn’t be possible. The Delilah Daud had had the misfortune of crossing paths with years ago had been crafty and cunning, but he’d made sure to rob her of all her resources. He’d carefully rid her of her allies, cut her support network to pieces. She’d been completely isolated at the end. Powerless. Or so he’d thought. Could she really have come back from that?  
It seemed farfetched. But then stranger things had occurred in those weeks of shifting power and rolling heads, hadn’t they? His own continued survival was testament to it. How many people would shake their head in disbelieve if somebody told them the infamous Knife had made it out of the purge Corvo had unleashed on Dunwall’s corrupt and rotten? Maybe he wasn’t the only one to claw his way out of it. 

It was Corvo’s turn to stare, it appeared. “You’ve really cut any and all ties, haven’t you?” 

Daud shrugged, but that uneasy feeling in his gut was coming back with full force. “I told you I wanted to leave and let the memory of me fade away. How could I’ve done that without severing all connections? Somebody would’ve come looking for me sooner or later otherwise. You’re the first to who managed to find me, so it worked out as intended, wouldn’t you say?”

“It worked a little too well, I would say.” Corvo shook his head, then gave a sigh that spoke of equal parts disbelieve and exasperation. “Delilah has taken over the business in Dunwall. There’s chaos in the ranks. Slaughter in the sanctuaries. Soon there’ll be open warfare in the streets. The Outsider even thinks she’s aiming to overthrow the High Table.”

“You’re still in contact with that bastard?” Daud snapped. He didn’t bother with keeping his hostility hidden. The hacker known as The Outsider was a blessing when it came to garnering intel and a curse in every other aspect. The eerie young man was one of the things Daud didn’t miss at all when it came to his former career.

“That’s the part that concerns you? Really?” Corvo looked incredulous. Quite a bit annoyed, too. Maybe Daud would get a fight out of the man after all.

“The Outsider’s so-called gifts don’t come for free,” he answered, frown firmly in place. “I’ve learned that the hard way, and so will you.”

“Thanks for the words of wisdom,” Corvo said through clenched teeth. “Now, if you could concentrate on the fact a madwoman is tearing Dunwall apart?” 

“I can. But what I do not understand is how it was possible in the first place.” Daud crossed his arms over his chest, frown digging deeper into his face. “I ruined her, Corvo. I made sure her empire crumbled around her. She should never have been able to come back from that.”

“But she did.” Corvo’s eyes were boring into his. There was something beseeching in that look. Something raw, almost vulnerable. Daud swallowed. 

“She’s powerful, she’s ruthless and she’s dangerous,” Corvo told him, low and serious. “She needs to be stopped. You managed it before and now I need you to tell me how you did it. I need every detail of what happened in the Brigmore Offices. Every detail of how you kept Emily save from her.”

Daud swallowed again. There was a lump in his throat that seemed to grow bigger the longer Corvo looked at him like this. 

“Know about that, too, do you?” he muttered. Damn it, he’d never meant for Corvo to find out.

“Mea- Billie has some of your old records on it. I listened to them.” Corvo had the grace to look the slightest bit sheepish. Still, his gaze was way too open and searching for Daud’s liking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have changed anything?” Daud’s eyes narrowed. Taking Delilah down had been personal. It had been about Billie. About his wounded pride and his wounded people. Saving Emily from her had kind of happened along the way. The last thing he needed was for Corvo to get some wrong idea about selflessness or any other quality he had never laid any claim to. 

“I killed your wife.” Daud made sure his tone was icy. “I made a deal with you because of it. I promised to keep your daughter safe and that’s what I did. But make no mistake, I went after Delilah for my own reasons. That it kept her away from your girl was a bonus. That’s all there was to it.” 

Corvo’s eyes hardened at his words and Daud was glad of it. This wasn’t some redemption story. Life wasn’t a sappy movie. He was who he was, had done what he’d done, and there was no changing the past. 

Some mistakes could never be paid for in full. 

“If you say so.” Corvo’s voice was considerably colder than before, but there was determination in it. “Are you going to help me keep my daughter safe one more time, then? I don’t understand why, but Delilah is still after her. I’ve managed to keep Emily hidden for now, but I need to understand what’s going on.” 

Corvo sighed. His expression softened ever so slightly. “Will you at least give me what I need to know to protect her?”

Daud hesitated. Not about telling Corvo the details of what the man had already found out, much as Daud had tried to prevent it in the first place. He would tell all there was to tell and with no little satisfaction knowing it would help dethrone Delilah, that was a given. The question was, how much more was he willing to do?  
He’d been itching to get back in the game, he realized that now. And from the most unlikely of sources, an opportunity to do so had shown up. Offered by the one man he still owed more than any other. There was no way Daud was getting back to his ill-fitting retirement and let Corvo take on half of Dunwall’s killer-elite on his own.  
Maybe some mistakes could never be paid for. But some could be corrected. 

“Of course I will,” he answered finally. And Corvo looked at him so fucking gratefully Daud almost didn’t want to go through with the next words. He didn’t deserve gratitude. Especially not from Corvo Attano, of all people.  
But when had not deserving ever stopped him from doing something?

“I suppose there’ll be enough time to fill you in on everything on the way to Dunwall.” 

Corvo’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then went wide in surprise. “You’re coming with me?”

Daud nodded. “Sure I am. I’ve still got a score to settle with Delilah, it seems.” He gave Corvo a smile that was all teeth and bloodlust. “And this time I’ll make sure she never recovers from it.”

Corvo blinked, then his face broke out into a grin. Not a smile, not a smirk, an honest to god grin, all huge and bright and cheery. Daud had never seen the expression on the man before. It was- something. Maybe he’d gotten in a little over his head here. No turning back now, though. 

“So, what do you say?” Daud held out his hand. “Do we have a deal? Take down the witch together?”

Corvo, grin never faltering, shook his hand without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and liking this story. I know the premise might not be a lot of people's cup of tea, so I was thrilled when the first kudos started coming in! :)


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